


Stewie

by NohaIjiachi



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3965542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NohaIjiachi/pseuds/NohaIjiachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from the kinkmeme: "Death comes one night to take Matt. Foggy and Karen fight him off with sticks and pepper-spray."</p>
<p>This is pure, unadultered crack wrote and posted on my phone, and I am very proud of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stewie

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt and thread that generated this are GOLDEN. Go read them [here](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1296.html?thread=1452560#cmt1452560)
> 
> This has been written on phone. I tried my best to correct all the typos, but its unbetated.  
> Still, I had a great time writing this. Enjoy.

Stewie hated his non-life. The reason? There were many.  
1- Other reapers had cool, inspired names like Abaddon or Samael. Not him. His name was Stewie. What the paradise, mom?!  
2- He actually never wanted to be a reaper. All he wanted to do in not-life was becoming a gardener. But his dad was all like, noooo, you have to continue the glorious lineage blah blah... And here he was. Satandammit.  
3- He had a job in the USA, Earth, which means he had to look like a FUCKING SKELETON WITH A DARK ROBE. WHY. These fucking people had no imagination at all. At least if they gave him a mission on Splurtz-9, he would have looked like a giant lizard with 8 wings shooting lasers from his eyes. That was a form he would agree to take, but no. Booh-ooh, spooky scary skeleton. Fuckin' humans.  
4- His promotion smelled like trap from a mile away.

I mean what did the guys thought, that he was dumb? One day he was cleaning the bathrooms, the next day ka-boom? Promotion? After their boss, more than 1000 years of service, had made a screaming scene in the lobby, saying that never in his long years of services he had been umiliated this way, that these effin humans can go ahead and be immortal, he was gonna retire fuckin thank you. 

And all of it smelling suspiciously like pickles.

Stewie was no idiot. He knew the high-ups were trying to cover the story.   
What he really could not understand was WHY they sent him, of all people. He was a junior fresh out of school, did they really expected him to be able to take care were his boss had failed? Or were they just taking time, trying to find a more suitable solution while Stewie was out there making a fool of himself?  
And it wasn't like he could go back and give up. Yesterday when he got home, thoughtful and perturbed, he had been welcomed by his whole family in a congratulation party.  
His mom couldn't stop crying and his dad couldn't stop bragging at full volume that Stewie had been promoted to reaper younger than anyone in the family.  
How was he supposed to go back to THAT?!

So here he was, looming over part of New York (Hell's Kitchen, his rather unhelpful pamphlet informed him) with his unbeliavably dumb dark robe getting all tangled in his stupid bone-y legs, looking for one Matthew Michael Murdock.  
He fumbled with the pamphlet (bone fingers did not do well with glossy paper) to find some more informations about the guy.  
No family, got blinded at nine in a accident saving someone else (that had won him a get-out-of-death-card that had long been used), gained enhanced senses out of it. Profession, lawyer.

... Vigilante at night?

A blind human with no healing power of sort beating up (unarmed) people with knives and guns?  
Was he insane?  
But, most important, HOW WAS HE ALIVE STILL?

This job smelled fishy more and more by the second. It was with a looming sense of dread that Stewie slowly descended toward a really giant and ugly billboard hanging out right in front of someone's window.

**

He took into the scene from outside.  
Here he was, his objective, looking definitely worse for wear with hair plastered on his forehead with blood, eyes closed and his mouth hanging slack.  
He was so pale the lights from the billboard reflected on him like a disco-ball.  
He was on the floor, lying into an impressive puddle of blood, while a woman (that kept muttering insults at him under her breath) was doing an actually impressive job at making sure his guts won't also spill out the floor.  
Stewie assumed that she must have been one of those deity-level doctors his colleagues hated so much for making their jobs harder.

And at a such young age too. He was honestly impressed.

But seriously, no matter how good she was, the guy was hanging to life by a thread. A worse-for-wear thread, ready to snap at any seconds.  
Maybe this job wasn't that hard...?  
As he phased through the window, he heard a female sharp intake of breath.  
But it wasn't the doctor.  
He looked up, toward a stair that went up a roof access. There she was, tall and beautiful, golden hair on her shoulder, pretty blue eyes wet with tears.  
And both hands tightened up around a broom.  
"FOGGY!" She yelled, the anger of one thousand furious gods in her voice. "HERE'S ONE! THE WINDOW NEAR THE COUNTER!"  
Stewie heard what could only be described as a spartan battle cry on his right, and as he turned to land his empty eyesockets on a man with messy sand-blond hair and a crumpled suit that had seen better times, he realized three things:  
-The man had a machete in his hands.  
-The man was about to attack him.  
-THE MAN WAS ABOUT TO ATTACK HIM.

THEY COULD SEE HIM. WHAT THE FUCK.

The machete crashed with a loud, cracking noise on his head and hetched in his face. Pieces and splinters of pearl white bone flied everywhere, as half his face basically exploded under the raw strenght of the hit.  
"WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?!" Stewie yelled, scandalized.  
The blond man -Foggy?- didn't waste any time. He gripped the handle of the machete and pushed against Stewie's ribcage with his right leg to tear the blade away from his crushed skull. He immediately landed a second hit with a graceful large sweep, right on his lumbar verteabre. Stewie's whole upper body came crashing on the floor in a mess of broken ribcages and messy black robe.

Fuck. He had to retire, and fast.

As his mess of a visual body started to disappear, he heard the doctor woman whistle softly and say "I had no idea you were so good with machetes, Foggy."  
"Eh. Have I ever told you that my mom wanted me to be a butcher?"

**

Ok. So.  
Matthew Michael Murdock. Not an easy job.  
Stewie had called the Angel Centraline that same night, furious, yelling into the reicever until the terrified centralinist finally let him speak with someone actually important.  
Because, what the fuck, it was a rare occurence enough for a human to have one Guardian Angel, but this guy had THREE and they were violent.  
And, let Stewie say as one supernatural entity doing their job to another? Machetes are not cool.  
But then, the bored Archangel at the phone told him that what was he even talking about, there was not a single Matthew Michael Murdock in their special surveilled humans registry, so he better not yell at them like that again and, for the love of all that was holy, stop doing so many drugs. Effin' reapers always high as kites.  
Stewie had stated at his phone for FOREVER.  
Was that dumb ball of feathers trying to tell him that the guy that attacked him was a normal human?  
That all three of them were humans?

No.

It wasn't possible.

He had to complete his mission, no matter what. It was a matter of honor, now.

**  
He found out that Franklin "Foggy" Nelson was not only good with machetes, but had a really mean right hook and a bullseye when throwing things. The salad spoon that painfully hetched right in the middle oh Stewie's forehead was proof enough.  
He found out that Karen Page could feel him and see him as soon as he stepped in the immediate vicinity of Matthew Michael Murdock, no matter how and from which angle. Her blue eyes would find Stewie and stare down at him like a hawk never losing sight of its prey.  
And on top of that, she had the uncanny ability of making ANYTHING a viable weapon (honorable mentions: a teddy bear plastic eyes and a baby bottle. Don't ask. Too humiliating and painful).  
He found out that Claire Temple wasn't actually a doctor (WHAT THE FUCK, HUMANS?! If you wanted to know Stewie's opinion, she should've already been crowned universal empress of the medical science.) but a nurse, that had no qualms hitting Stewie with a baton while patching Matthew Michael Murdock up with a single hand and not detatching her eyes from him, not even for a second.  
When she had both hands free, she would wipe the floor with Stewie.

He found that Matthe- Matt Murdock was one sturdy, stubborn son of a bitch. It didn't matter how badly he got hurt, how nearly he got to really dying. He would get up. And his three angels would watch his back. Always.  
He would always get up and launch himself back in combat.  
Again.  
And again.  
And again.  
And again...

**

Stewie stared down at his phone feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulder.  
Suddenly, he felt very free.  
He grinned, he laughed, he took a decision.  
He turned, abandoned the dumb skeleton look in favor of a more normal human look. Middle aged, on the side of balding and with a beer belly.  
He stepped into Matt Murdock's living room.  
The laughters and tickling of cutlery that had filled the room a second earlier died out instantly. Three chairs scratched on the floor, two women and a man stood with the same aggressive, you-do-not-fuck-with-me, expressions. All three of them held up their forks and knife with plastic handles like they were the deadliest weapons (and, in their hands, they were).  
Matt Murdock, a butterfly bandage on his right eyebrow still there from last time, looked around with his unseeing eyes open wide.  
"...Guys?" He said, quizzically.

"What now? Is he gonna choke on a salad leaf? Slip and crack his head while washing the dishes? What?!" Foggy nelson growled, marching toward Stewie with the self-assured steps of someone who's gonna kick some serious ass and not break a sweat while doing it.  
"Foggy? Who are you talking to?" Matt Murdock asked, baffled, before pulling Karen Page's sleeve when he got no answer. "Karen? Claire?"  
Stewie held his hands up in a universal sign of peace. "I'm not here to work, tonight. Just wanted to say goodbye." He said, amiably, before adding as an after tought. "I got fired."  
Nelson stopped in his tracks, eyes opening wide in surprise, as Murdock jumped violently in his chair.  
"Who the fuck just talked?!" He squeaked out, grabbing Temple's arm. "Guys?!"  
"Fired?" Nelson asked, slowly, a small, infinitesimal note of pity in his voice.  
Stewie had the ridiculous mental image of Nelson offering to defend him in court against unjustified firing before shaking his head and grinning at them.  
"You guys had been an absolute nightmare to deal with." Stewie said, cheerful. "And I thank you for it."  
Page's mouth opened in a big O. Murdock was clawing at her, trying to get her attention, but she ignored him. "Thank us?"  
"I never wanted to do this job." Stewie explained. "I had other dreams, but I let my family pressure me into this. But now, I'm gonna go back, someone's gonna use me as a scapegoat and I'll be kicked out. It's gonna bring perpetual shame on my family and my father will never speak to me again."  
Nelson, Page and Temple exchanged the same shocked, vaguely guilty looks between them, as Murdock has simply given up trying to get his friends' attention and has started to try sniffing Stewie down.  
"That would've been the worst case scenario I could ever imagine... Until you guys came along and destroyed me. My honor. My dignity. My will."  
"And that's the best thing that could have happened. I'm so worn down I don't care anymore. I'll go back home and I'll go run after my real dreams."  
"So, thank you for making me see what is really important. Someone else is gonna take my place, but I'm sure its gonna be no problem for you three. Just be careful, and take care."  
A long, deafening silence followed his words. Stewie turned toward Murdock that in the middle of the living room was doing his best impression of a barn owl, surely trying to hear some kind of noise from Stewie's not existent body.  
"And you, Murdock."  
Murdock froze.  
"Get your head out of your ass and try a little bit harder not to get killed, will ya? These three deserves better. They are tough as nails and love you with all their hearts, for some reasons I cannot quite understand. So be a little bit more respectful towards them, ok buddy?"  
Satisfied with his little pep-talk, Stewie deeply bowed toward the three enemies he has long learned to respect as his body started to disappear, hearing some last words.  
"What... The fuck just happened?!"  
"Sit down, Matty. It's gonna be a long explanation."

**

Someone came out screaming like a banshee from the Reaper Centre, and Stewie quietly grinned to himself on his way to his parents house, backpack full of gardening tools.  
It was a nice day. His da' asked him to come take care of his bushes, the sky was bright, and the Team Murdock Trio has sended another Reaper into a early retirement.  
He ought to call Mindy and ask her to send another congratulation card to Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at law, later.


End file.
